


Puppets On A String

by I_Write_Sins_and_Tragedies



Series: Turnabout Luck [1]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night: Unlimited Blade Works (Anime 2014)
Genre: M/M, PTSD, Really it's more Cu and Dia being bros, Spoilers for Zero and UBW, Unlucky Local Irishmen Can Empathize And Relate To Each Other, vague references to past character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23497213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Write_Sins_and_Tragedies/pseuds/I_Write_Sins_and_Tragedies
Summary: The urging of the command seal burned through him like a rush of molten mana...
Relationships: Cú Chulainn | Lancer & Diarmuid Ua Duibhne | Lancer, Cú Chulainn | Lancer/Diarmuid Ua Duibhne | Lancer
Series: Turnabout Luck [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690684
Comments: 9
Kudos: 45





	Puppets On A String

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I've fallen into rarepair hell and of course my favorite Lancers are responsible. There is Too Damn Little content of these boys, so guess I just gotta roll up my sleeves and contribute!

The urging of the command seal burned through him like a rush of molten mana, and the first thing Diarmuid did upon revival was very nearly emptying his stomach. That oppressive weight upon him, the irresistible demand to do exactly as his Master commanded right then, right there, left his head spinning and his stomach turning with dread.

It was only Cu Chulainn's intervention that saved him from being a waste of a command seal. A flash of his crimson weapon, the sharp peal of swords meeting Gae Bolg, a blur of midnight blue as his fellow Lancer jumped between him and their opponent.

"Oi, Diarmuid, get your head back in the game!" Cu hollered, already charging the corrupted husk of an Archer clad in gold. Yes, right, the game. The mission. His duties as a knight and Servant to fight for and defend his Master. That was top priority. Swallowing the bile in his throat, Diarmuid pressed the torrent of his emotions down, down, and rejoined the fray.

* * *

By the end of it, he wished he could say he'd forgotten about the feeling of the command seal dragging him back from the brink of death. The soul-deep weight of it, the way his body acted thoughtlessly without his input, as though he'd just been a puppet on a string. Granted, the last time, it had been the opposite sort of command, but nonetheless...the tingle of that mana lingered and left his skin crawling and his heart beating fast, well after the final foe had been slain and they'd spent a few minutes simply gathering the spoils.

It was a good haul, and his Master, Mash, and Cu Chulainn all seemed to be in good spirits despite the close brush with death. Diarmuid tried to play along and wore a smile he really didn't feel, but his tongue remained leaden in his mouth and his mind offered nothing to contribute to the after-mission banter. Returning to Chaldea felt both a blessing and curse; swept back to confined, cold halls and a place with so little privacy, yet at least it allowed him to excuse himself from the party as soon as they landed in the control room.

He thought, as he stepped out into the hallway and set a swift pace for his quarters, that no one had noticed. He supposed he shouldn't have underestimated a man as renowned as the Child of Light.

"Hey, Diarmuid. You alright? You're lookin' a little pale." Cu Chulainn said, practically materializing at his side. He managed not to jump, at least, and put back up that thin smile that he was sure wouldn't reach his eyes.

"I'm fine. I'm simply tired after such a trying mission." It was, at least, partially true. Who wouldn't be after all but dying and being dragged back from the grave just to fight another wave of enemies? And yet, it seemed as though his false truth landed on suspicious ears, and Cu frowned a tad at him.

"Well, yeah, I guess. You just seem out of it, you know? Like you've got something rattling around that pretty head of yours." The Hound of Ulster's compliment, however flippant, was almost enough to give Diarmuid pause. Perhaps it would have at another time, when he wasn't so preoccupied. But as it was...his mind unhelpfully fetched back to the feeling of the command seal gripping him, jerking him away from the brink of death, jerking him towards it, so fast that he never even saw it coming-

He took in a deep breath through his nose, and released it in one big puff from his mouth. The hallways were rarely quiet, especially around Servants' quarters, but for once it seemed his miserable luck was not in play. That small privacy was the only reason Diarmuid was able to meet Cu Chulainn's eyes, or muster his next words.

"I simply...do not have a fond history with command seals. Even used for something good, the sensation...reminded me of less pleasant times." He said quietly, and unbidden one hand rose to rub at his sternum, over the scar Gae Dearg had left behind. The Grail had not healed that, and he doubted it ever could. It could not even clear his mind of that tragic night, as much as he wished sometimes that it would. Perhaps that was just an effect of being impaled by a spear that negated magic.

Cu's eyes tracked Diarmuid's hand, and for a brief moment, the Knight of Fianna could have sworn they widened, or maybe softened with something like understanding...it was hard to tell at a glance. The Hound rubbed at the back of his head, letting out a sigh of his own.

"I get what ya mean... Well, sort of. The Grail's damn meddling makes it all hazy, but I can remember enough." Cu jabbed a thumb against the center of his own chest, just to the left of his heart. "Almost forgot about it, 'til Master used that seal. I figured it was just a scar from the first time I died, but, well." He shrugged, and Diarmuid felt a tug of sympathy. "To hell with those Masters, am I right?" Despite the dire topic, Cu flashed him a grin, all teeth and crimson eyes that burned with the strength to move past old pains and forge on ahead.

Diarmuid found he couldn't help but smile - really smile - in return. That wild confidence and self-assuredness of Cu Chulainn's was infectious, and more easily than any time since that miserable night, he found himself able to agree.

"Yes...they did us no favors. I'm glad that this one seems different."

"Damn straight. It's a breath of fresh air, after the last time. Anyway." Cu threw an arm about Diarmuid's shoulders, a warm, heavy weight that tugged him closer effortlessly. "Let's go get a drink or somethin'. I could use one after fighting his royal pain in the arse like that."

The Knight of Fianna found that his smile could only grow with that, and his arm found a companionable place over Cu's shoulders in turn. "A drink sounds like a gods-send right now."

That earned another flash of Cu's grin, and with that said the Hound set off away from their quarters, pulling Diarmuid along. It would be several drinks and an hour of pleasant chatting later that would find the two Lancers sprawled on a couch in one commons room, tangled together as they comfortably slept off the booze.


End file.
